


Sherlollipops - All Out Of Love

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [77]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Sherlolly - Freeform, Songfic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is Molly Hooper truly "All Out of Love"? One thing's for sure - Sherlock is definitely "So Lost Without You"!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - All Out Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the corny description, but thank you to everyone who reads and comments on my stories, you guys rock! As always, I own nothing but the silly plot.

“John, what would you say if I told you I was thinking about telling someone how I felt about them?"

Sherlock watched as John stopped in the act of dropping into his chair and stared at him. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting such a question upon his arrival at the flat; nor, to be honest, had Sherlock expected to ask that question. Still, he’d asked it and he was actually interested in John’s response.

John finished lowering himself into his chair and asked, “That someone being…?”

Sherlock moved restlessly around the sitting room, hands clasped behind his back, eyes downcast as he answered. “Someone I’ve known for years, who’s always been there for me even if I haven’t always been there for them, not the way I should have been. Someone who’s moved on and I just can’t let it go even though I’ve tried.” He raked his fingers through his hair, too engrossed in his own struggles to notice the dismayed expression on John’s face. “Someone who has been deservedly angry with me more times than I can count, yet always forgives me and lets me back into their life whether I deserve forgiveness or not, someone who…”

“Sherlock, that’s, um, very flattering, and you know you’re my best friend, but I love Mary, and I’m sorry, but…”

“What?” Sherlock whirled around to stare at John, finally taking in his tense posture, his clear desire to flee at the first possible moment, the way his eyes were darting round the room… “Oh, no, not you,” he huffed impatiently. “Don’t be an idiot, I told you when we first met I was married to my work, and although true, that was also my apparently far too subtle attempt to let you know I was not then and would not in future be interested in pursuing any sort of romantic or sexual relationship with you.” John’s eyes narrowed, but Sherlock kept talking, waving his hands dismissively as he did so. “Besides, I don’t think my liver could take any more damage at your wife’s hands, and I’m certain that marital infidelity is not something she’d easily…”

“Right, got it,” John said loudly, finally stopping the torrent of words. “So not me, good, that’s good, because yeah, Mary wouldn’t take it very well if she thought her jokes about you being my boyfriend were actually true. So, not me. Who, then?”

Sherlock gave John his very best ‘don’t be an idiot’ stare. “Really? You can’t deduce it?”

“Considering that I thought you were asexual up till Irene Adler – God, it’s not her, is it?” John interrupted himself to ask. “Because honestly, Sherlock, you two would kill each other in a month, tops, and as for being there for you and forgiving you, that really doesn’t sound much like the woman I remember. In fact, seems to me _you_ did more of the forgiving and being there, which is weird considering it’s you we’re talking about.”

“Not Irene,” Sherlock said, cutting in when it seemed John was content to natter on interminably about The Woman. Yes, he’d had a certain infatuation with her, but ultimately John was (not that he’d ever tell him) right. He and Irene would have killed one another within a month if they’d tried to enter into any kind of a relationship past their weekend-long affair after Karachi.

“Then who?” John seemed honestly bewildered, and Sherlock almost snapped at him again before pausing to reconsider. Of course John couldn’t see it, how could he when Sherlock had gone to such pains to make his feelings for a certain pathologist impossible to discern?

“Forget it,” he grumbled, plopping down into his chair and curling up on his side, arms folded across his chest and a frown on his lips. Lips that would never have the opportunity to kiss Molly Hooper since he’d done such a fantastic job of ruining any chance of her falling back in love with him. What was that inane song his mother used to sing at the top of her lungs? Ah, yes, unfortunately he remembered it. _“I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you…something, something, believing for so long…”_ A sappy, overly sentimental song by some inane American...no, Australian...80s pop band he should have deleted years ago. Ugh.

“Hmm, no, can’t,” John drawled in what Sherlock suspected was meant to be an imitation of himself. “So. Not me – thank God – not Irene, probably not Greg…”

“Who?”

“Lestrade, don’t be an ass,” John retorted. “Not Sally Donovan; even if you two get on better now that you’re back from the dead, she still barely tolerates you and if you’re secretly in love with her then I’m a mythical dragon-fighting thief. And it’s definitely not Mrs. Hudson. Sorry mate, but after the parade of boyfriends that have come and gone over the years, I know you’re not her type.” There was a definite twinkle in his eyes and just the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips; John was enjoying himself now, and Sherlock decided that two could play at that game.

“Why not Lestrade? The Silver Fox would be quite the catch. As for Hudders, well, it would be an unconventional relationship but hardly unheard of. And you can’t deny that they’ve both, in their own ways, been there for me…”

“Sherlock, you do know I can tell when you’re taking the piss, right? And we both know exactly who it is, now that I’ve had time to properly think about it.” His smirk deepened. “Molly Hooper.”

“Molly Hooper what?” a third voice asked from the vicinity of the door.

John and Sherlock both swiveled their heads to find the woman in question smiling tightly at them, a cooler with a hazmat label on it clutched in her arms. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, but Mrs. Hudson said I should just come right up. Kidneys,” she added, slightly raising the cooler in explanation. “Renal failure.”

“I didn’t ask for kidneys,” Sherlock said, brow furrowed in confusion. He hadn’t, in fact, asked Molly for anything ever since she’d slapped him for his drug use. Oh, they were back on fairly good terms now – certainly she’d forgiven him a multitude of sins since he’d been shot – but things hadn’t been the same, and he knew it was all his fault. His fault entirely that Molly was no longer in love with him, that her eyes no longer lingered on him when they worked together, that she no longer blushed and stuttered around him (although to be fair, she hadn’t done that since his fake death); and worst of all, that she no longer stared at him admiringly when he made a brilliant deduction. 

“Yeah, well, we had them and it’s been a while since you asked for any body parts, so…” Molly shrugged and fell silent, shifting the cooler a bit. John jumped to his feet and hurried over and took it from her, carrying it into the kitchen and setting it on the table. 

“Right, then, I’ll be off,” he announced, hurriedly shrugging into his jacket. “No need to see me out, I know the way. Have fun doing…whatever…to those kidneys.” He gave Molly a peck on the cheek and a warm hug and Sherlock found himself biting back a derisive comment about how John wasn’t Molly’s type and besides he was married now and shouldn’t be flirting with his pathologist anyway.

Wait, wrong, what? Where the hell had _that_ possessive, jealous thought come from?

Desperate to clear his head of such mental nonsense, he hurried across the room and into the kitchen, leaving Molly standing by the door. “Thanks for bringing these by, no need to stay if you’ve got other things to do,” he called over his shoulder, trying for casual but wincing internally when it came out brusque and dismissive.

Molly, however, stood her ground. “Sherlock, what were you and John saying about me when I got here?” she asked.

He hunched his shoulders and fumbled for his safety glasses, lying next to the clutter of Bunsen burners and test tubes on the table. “Nothing important,” he mumbled. He heard her intake of breath and winced outwardly this time as he spun to face her. “I didn’t mean…what I meant was, it was nothing bad, nothing you need to worry about,” he said in a rush. “I mean, after all, it’s not up to me to police your love life, you’ve made that abundantly clear in the past, and I did refrain from deducing Tom, you did a fantastic job of figuring out he was an idiot all on your own, and I…”

He fell silent as Molly walked up to him, blinking down at her, the pair of safety goggles still clutched in one hand. She reached down and gently tugged them out of his grip and set them back on the table, her eyes never leaving his. “So you and John were talking about my love life? Why? What business is it of yours?” There was a bite to her words, and if he’d had the room, Sherlock would have backed up a step at the glint of steel in her eyes.

“None, absolutely none,” he said, recognizing the petulance in his own voice as well as his inability to dial it back. Was this how Molly had felt, all those years ago? Had her gut churned when she realized her love was unlikely to ever be returned? If so, then it was certainly poetic justice, but even knowing he deserved to feel badly didn’t stop him from letting the frustrated words pour out of him. “You’ve also made _that_ abundantly clear. I don’t deserve you, you’re over me and free to date or become engaged to whomever you like, no matter how I f…”

This time his silence was also due to Molly’s actions, as she tugged his head down and pressed her lips softly but firmly against his. “Sherlock,” she said when they eventually came up for air.

“Yes?” His mouth was still hovering over hers, their foreheads pressed together. At some point he’d pulled her tightly to his body and his arms were still wrapped around her slender figure.

“Trust me, no one gets over you that easily.” Then her lips were on his again and all Sherlock could do was hold on tight and kiss her back.

“Sooo…you’re not all out of love?” he asked when they came up for air a few minutes later, giving her his most hopeful expression. The one she’d dubbed ‘puppy-dog eyes’ for some reason that escaped him. 

“Nope,” she replied with a grin, popping the last p loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to hear. Sherlock grinned at her passable imitation of himself; she did a much better job than John! “I’m just glad you finally got it through your thick head that _you_ were in love with _me_ ; I was beginning to wonder which one of us was the deductive genius after all!”

The only reply he could make to such a cheeky comment was to pull her close and kiss her again, content in the knowledge that he could always count on Molly Hooper to know exactly what he needed. Especially when what he needed was…herself.


End file.
